


Walk and Don’t Look Back

by AirgiodSLV



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-15
Updated: 2010-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-19 02:19:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AirgiodSLV/pseuds/AirgiodSLV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Sometimes he thought about Patrick and his stomach felt like it had when he was thirteen, nervous and hopeful and eager to prove himself. He kept thinking 'this is the year I’ll grow out of it,' but somehow he never had.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walk and Don’t Look Back

**Author's Note:**

> For the [](http://no-tags.livejournal.com/profile)[**no_tags**](http://no-tags.livejournal.com/) exchange, prompt 'rhythm'. Thanks to [](http://adellyna.livejournal.com/profile)[**adellyna**](http://adellyna.livejournal.com/) and [](http://formerlydf.livejournal.com/profile)[**formerlydf**](http://formerlydf.livejournal.com/) for rescuing me from myself and vastly improving this.

“You can’t slow down there, you’re fudging it up,” Patrick said, sticks paused in mid-air.

William frowned at his guitar, trying the fingering again. “I’m not trying to slow down, I’m just not good enough to play all the notes that fast,” he answered. It was hard to admit it out loud, but not as hard as it would be with anyone else.

“We could go slower,” Patrick suggested, squinting behind his glasses. “But it would sound weird.”

“No, I know, I’ll try again,” William said, shifting the guitar’s weight to support it better. It weighed almost as much as he did, and after an hour of practice, he tended to get stiff.

“Water it down until we get it right. Or just practice it a bunch of times.” Patrick tapped out a beat almost absently, waiting for William to stop noodling and get back to the song. “You’ll get it.”

Which was easy enough for Patrick to say. Patrick had a way up picking up an instrument and figuring out how to make it do what he wanted just by looking at it. It was a talent William was trying to cultivate, unfortunately with less success.

They were messing around with some stuff because it was warm enough outside to play in Patrick’s parents’ garage with the door open, and Patrick was good for bouncing ideas around. William had plenty of ideas of his own, so many that sometimes he felt like he’d never have enough time to get them all down, but he liked having a second set of ears. And he liked being around Patrick.

“Mom won’t be home for another hour, so we can keep practicing until then. I’ll probably have to help with dinner.” Patrick hit the snare. “Are you staying?”

“Probably not, my parents will want me home.” William picked out the melody again slowly, one note at a time, getting it into his fingers. “I can stay until then, though.”

Patrick’s mom was awesome, but she always wanted to feed him, and she didn’t seem to understand that William had been force-feeding himself ever since he started the eighth grade. It didn’t matter, nothing stuck. He was still just as skinny and gangly as he had been nine months ago.

Patrick knew how he felt, but William still couldn’t complain about it to him. Patrick had the opposite problem; too much baby fat for high school, pudgy around his middle and in his face. It might suck to look like a twig, but William wasn’t enough of a jerk to complain about it to a chubby kid.

Not that he had a problem with the way Patrick looked. He thought Patrick was growing up nicely, but that wasn’t something he could ever say aloud, and especially not to Patrick.

William screwed the riff up another three times before scraping his fingers down the strings. “You should play it, you’re better at this.”

“You’re better at new ideas,” Patrick replied, throwing in the kick-drum for variety.

“You’re better at guitar,” William answered.

“You’re better at singing,” Patrick said. “You’re on melody.”

William made a face at him. “You’re better than you think you are,” he said. Patrick just hit the kick drum once, waiting him out. William sighed and nodded for Patrick to count them in again.

  


-

  
Working retail through his last year of high school was more of a nightmare than William had originally anticipated. He was lucky enough to have friends to help him out, but it was hard when all he wanted was to be making music, and instead he was stuck taking calculus tests and selling cotton shirts. It was even harder when Patrick was out on tour with his band, doing exactly what William dreamt of doing. It was harder when Patrick wasn’t around.

They were due back in town, though, and there was a message on his phone when William went on his break. It was from Patrick, saying he would be around for the day, so William headed over after his shift ended at The Gap. He had homework, and he and Mike were supposed to be doing some more songwriting tonight, but he hadn’t seen Patrick in a while, and it was a narrow window of opportunity. He’d fit the rest in tonight, somehow, once he got back. Patrick was a higher priority.

Patrick’s house was the same as ever, even though William hadn’t been over in a year or so now. It was weird to come in through the front door rather than heading around to the garage.

After a round of hugs and questions from Patrick’s mom, they retreated to Patrick’s old room with soda pop and a bag of corn chips. William looked at the posters on the wall and the action figures on the shelves, everything exactly as he remembered it even though Patrick hardly lived here anymore.

“I still can’t believe you got out,” William said, shaking his head and touching the corner of an old concert flier that was yellowed with age, curling slowly away from the wall.

“You will too,” Patrick said, sitting on his computer chair and seemingly content to let William wander. “How’s the music going?”

“Good,” William said honestly. “I’m writing with Mike Carden from Jolene, and Jason Siska’s little brother plays the bass, we’ve been jamming and putting some stuff together.”

“Cool,” Patrick said. “Who’s drumming?”

“I am, right now,” William answered with a rueful smile. He trusted Patrick to fill in the blanks from experience to determine exactly how well that was going. “We could use you, if you weren’t out there living the dream.”

“Oh yeah, living the dream, living in a van,” Patrick said, chuckling. “The rock star glamour.”

“Better than living on a couch,” William said, holding back a sigh and perching on the corner of Patrick’s bed. The quilt was handmade, and looked as if it had been made with a ten-year-old in mind, but William liked it. It showed a lot of love.

Patrick sobered, searching his face. “Your parents finally kicked you out?”

William shrugged. They’d both known it was coming, it had only ever been a matter of time. “This year was the deadline for college applications,” he said. “And I got my SAT scores back. They wanted me to go Ivy League.”

“For what?” Patrick snorted. When William just shrugged again, he added, “No offense to your parents, but I don’t know how they thought you were ever going to be anything but a rock star.”

It was what William had thought since he’d been old enough to dream of a stage, but it made him feel warmer and more certain, somehow, coming from Patrick. Patrick actually knew what it was like to be one.

“Wannabe rock star,” William returned, falling back into the banter of years past, when they’d been much younger and playing at the older kids’ definition of cool.

“Rock star in the making,” Patrick replied, right on cue. They shared a quick grin, and Patrick said, “You do need a real drummer, though.”

“I know.” William picked at a fraying thread on the pocket of his jeans. “I suck.”

“You don’t suck,” Patrick said. “But I’d guess you’re probably busy singing and playing lead guitar.”

“We need a drummer and a guitarist,” William acknowledged, falling back onto his elbows. Every time it felt like he was getting close, there was always a reminder that he still had a long way to go.

“I’ll bet Pete knows some people,” Patrick offered. “I can ask.”

“Nah, but thanks,” William replied, smiling. “We can put it together. It has to be the right people, you know?”

“Yeah,” Patrick said, and William was a little envious of how smug and fond he looked, that he’d already found that. Patrick was only a year older than he was, and sometimes it felt like an eternity, that one year, like William was never going to catch up.

Sometimes he thought about Patrick and his stomach felt like it had when he was thirteen, nervous and hopeful and eager to prove himself. He kept thinking _'this is the year I’ll grow out of it,'_ but somehow he never had.

“Hey, do you want to stay for dinner?” Patrick asked. “My mom’s making her lasagna.”

William really ought to head home and let Patrick catch up with his family, but there was nothing awaiting him there besides another night of fast food or Ramen, and the idea of a home-cooked meal sounded like heaven. His stomach rumbled, right on cue.

Patrick smiled at him. “Come on, you know my mom loves feeding you up,” he said. “You’ll make her day. I’ll go tell her you’re staying, we’ll have enough.”

“Thanks,” William said, as Patrick got up and opened his bedroom door to head downstairs.

“Believe me, I know, living on cheap food sucks,” Patrick told him.

“Language,” Patrick’s mom called up the stairs.

Patrick grimaced. “The woman has bat hearing,” he muttered in an undertone.

Patrick’s mom called back, “I heard that!”

“Don’t aggravate her, rock star,” William advised, grinning as they thundered down the stairs. “You’ll only end up doing the dishes.”

  


-

  
It didn’t happen for so long that William was surprised when it finally did; just like his parents finally throwing him out, like high school eventually ending, like Patrick’s new best friend interceding and getting him signed to an actual label, with an actual record.

Just like that, Patrick’s bare hips under his hands, his jeans pushed down around his knees, his hands in William’s hair and his cock pushing down William’s throat.

“Oh, f—” Patrick started, stuttering to a stop but gripping tighter to William’s skull. William took the hint and tried to repeat whatever it was that he’d done, but it was messy and there was saliva everywhere and he kept feeling like he was going to gag. Gagging wasn’t sexy. He wanted this to be perfect.

Patrick made a noise halfway between a moan and a cow dying. His hips kept pushing up like he wanted more, but William’s mouth was full and if he went too far down he got pubic hair in his nose, which made it even harder to breathe than it already was.

He tried to work with what he had, but Patrick finally flexed his hips a handful of times in tiny thrusts, like he could help it, and he stammered out, “No, n—, you’ve got to…”

William pulled off, feeling clumsy and humiliated and like he really ought to know this by eighteen, like sex was something every guy his age had already done and achieved proficiency in. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and tried not to look frustrated, because it wasn’t Patrick’s fault William wasn’t getting him off.

Patrick was flushed becomingly red, all down his neck and on the soft swell of his belly where his shirt was rucked up. “I’m not saying you’re doing it wrong,” Patrick explained, one hand flapping vaguely while the other tried to reach some part of William in reassurance.

William kept just out of reach. He assumed his expression was skeptical, because Patrick made a noise and said, “I just need more…you know.” His hand moved up and down, and William wondered if he was ambitious to have attempted this, if he should have just stuck to a handjob instead of trying to impress Patrick with how worldly he was. Patrick knew he wasn’t worldly. He knew the names of everyone William had ever kissed (all four of them) and the fact that he’d never done anything like this.

Patrick’s hands dropped and bunched at his sides, waiting for William to come back on his own. William rubbed his cheek, wiping at a patch of drying saliva and surreptitiously stretching his jaw out. “Right,” he said, and ducked back down.

Patrick moaned again when William took him in, and this time William tried to do what he’d asked for, bobbing up and down rather than trying to do anything fancy or take him all in at once. Patrick made another dying noise and wrapped his own hand around the base of his cock.

William was all set to sit back in annoyance and let Patrick do it himself if that was what he wanted, but Patrick gasped suddenly and said, “Yeah, yeah, y—yeah, fuck, Bill,” and William’s entire body throbbed when Patrick said his name like that.

He paid attention to Patrick’s hand, counted the beats in his head, _one, two, three, down down down,_ and when Patrick came, filling the condom and twitching against the inside of William’s cheek, all William could think about was how he couldn’t wait, because he was going to be so much better at this next time.

  


-

  
Touring was everything William had ever wanted in life, and he still couldn’t figure out how he’d gotten here. It wasn’t that he’d ever doubted he would be here one day, but it was one thing to dream and another to see upturned faces at the barrier singing the chorus to one of his songs. And sure, they were only opening, but that was how everyone started. This was how it all began.

He got so caught up in the current of it – load-in, sound check, perform, load-out, hit the road, rinse and repeat – that it was strange to wake up one day and not feel the bus moving beneath him. He made it all of three hours before showing up on Patrick’s metaphorical doorstep, which was in actuality a lawn chair out on the thin strip of grass next to the parking lot.

“Hi,” he said, tucking his fingers into his pockets and making sure to smile at Pete first, since he was occupying a lawn chair next to Patrick. William didn’t think it changed the fact that his smile was a little bit brighter for Patrick, but hopefully that went unnoticed. “I just thought I’d come over and, you know, see what you were, ah, up to.”

It sounded lame, he knew, but that didn’t mean Pete had to start laughing at him. Patrick thankfully cast a longsuffering look at Pete and said, “Touring Shock Syndrome. That’s what we call it. TSS. When you don’t know where you are or what day it is, but you’re fine until you have a day off, and then everything falls apart.”

William hesitated, but felt justified in asking, “Doesn’t TSS have something to do with girls and, like, tampons?”

“We appropriated it,” Patrick said solemnly, in a tone of voice that told William this line had come from Pete. “Girls can’t have everything, it’s sexist.”

“Right, that makes total sense,” William agreed. “So, um, what do I do now? Is there medication?”

“The problem is, you’re going to be a difficult case,” Pete considered, studying William. “You’re pretty put-together already. Let me guess, you’ve already showered today. And you’ve done your laundry. And you’ve cleaned.”

“Extreme measures will have to be taken,” Patrick agreed. “You might actually have to take the day off and do something fun.”

“I’m not opposed,” William commented, smiling at him.

What he really wanted to suggest was that they go somewhere and make use of the free time together, but Pete was here, so he couldn’t. He and Patrick had agreed that they both wanted to keep their relationship private, since it was no else’s business but theirs. Besides which, the possibilities for merciless mocking if they were discovered were nearly endless. Patrick was also determined to believe that no one knew about them yet, in spite of Pete’s smirking and near-constant innuendos whenever all three of them were in the same room.

William could only hope that Patrick mentally got the message anyway. And tilt his hips a little to help it bridge the distance.

Patrick lifted his face up to the sunshine. “Grocery shopping,” he decided. “It’s not something I’d normally prescribe, but you are a severe case.”

Clearly the hip thing wasn’t working. Although Pete’s smirk told him that at least one of them was getting the message. William straightened up surreptitiously. “How far is the store?” he asked, giving up for the moment. He could always regroup and attack again later.

“A few blocks,” Patrick said. He stretched out and stood up, folding his chair. “I’ll walk with you. Or we can take you guys’ van.”

Patrick’s face was hidden under a dangerously cute denim cap, so William couldn’t see his eyes, but he very much hoped that ‘take the van’ was code for ‘make out in the backseat in the parking lot behind the grocery store.’

“Sure,” William agreed, aiming for casual. “Everyone’s out right now anyway, getting lunch or something. You want to go now?”

“Might as well,” Patrick replied, just as casual. “The grass isn’t going anywhere.”

“Be safe, kids,” Pete called after them as they started across the lot to the van.

“I didn’t hear that,” Patrick muttered, jamming his hat further down onto his head as William bit his lip to keep from laughing. “And neither did you.”

“We’re moving stuff out of the backseat before we leave, right?” William asked, glancing sideways to see if he could catch a glimpse of Patrick under the cap.

He could only see the hint of a smile, but it was enough. “Obviously,” Patrick answered, somehow managing to look far too innocent for someone whose mouth had done the kinds of things William knew intimately that it had. “We need to make room for the groceries.”

  


-

  
William loved being on tour, loved the crowds and the fans and the energy and the shows, but right now he was pretty fond of being home. Largely because being home meant his own apartment while Mike was out at his girlfriend’s, locked doors, clean sheets on a real bed, and a naked Patrick underneath him.

To be honest, the naked Patrick might have had a lot to do with tipping the scales.

William felt awkward and fumbling all over again, because while they’d had sex – a _lot_ of sex – they hadn’t had this _kind_ of sex, and William was afraid he was screwing it up. Patrick was tight around him and William wasn’t sure if he was angled the right way, and neither of them were doing much in the way of communication besides panting and lip-biting. It wasn’t a lot to go on as far as feedback.

William was trying to go slow, he was, but then something would happen and he’d thrust involuntarily, or they’d shift together and Patrick would suck in a little breath that was sexy as hell, or he’d just pick up speed unconsciously and have to ease up and slow back down. Patrick was bearing with him for now, but he wasn’t a particularly patient person, and William was getting the impression that the fingers digging into the muscles on either side of his spine were about to become fingernails intent on drawing blood.

“Stop…” Patrick’s sentence died off briefly as William picked up speed for a handful of thrusts before slowing down again. “…being so careful. I’m not going to break. Just…”

William bit his tongue and tried to keep his thrusts even. It took a lot of coordination, and his muscles were starting to ache in odd places. He hadn’t realized this would be so technically difficult. “Is that…?” he tried, but then he realized he was speeding up again, so he forced himself to stop.

Patrick made an impatient growly noise and squinted at him, red-faced. It shouldn’t have been anywhere near as hot as it was. “Just do it,” he ordered, like the posterboy for a Nike campaign.

William set to it again, but then he started worrying that the angle wasn’t right, that he was going too fast, that he was being too rough, that Patrick…

“I swear to God, Bill,” Patrick ground out, fingernails digging in warningly, “if you don’t fucking fuck me right now, I’m going to tie you to the bed and ride you until…”

William missed the end of the threat, because his brain and body both shorted out together and he came with a series of short, sharp thrusts before collapsing on top of Patrick.

It took a second for him to regain higher brain function. When he did, he blinked his eyes open dazedly and saw a very cross-looking Patrick mere inches away.

“Seriously?” Patrick said.

“Sorry,” William managed, trying hard not to lose control and stutter. “I can…”

Patrick harrumphed at him, but luckily, on a scale of one to Pete, he didn’t look too pissed-off. “You can get me off,” he suggested. “I’d say it was my turn to do you, but you look stupidly blissed-out right now and I’d actually feel bad.” He frowned for a moment before adding, “But not all that bad.”

“Sorry,” William said again, dragging himself up onto his hands and knees. Things started twingeing again, but he couldn’t bring himself to care much. He fumbled to tie off the condom and push his hair out of his eyes. “Do you want me to blow you? Or use my hand?”

“Anything, at this point,” Patrick informed him. “As long as it’s a vehicle for orgasm.”

Unwrapping a condom seemed like an awful lot of effort, so William jerked Patrick off and mouthed at the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, breathing over his balls when Patrick’s breath started getting huffy and his muscles tensed up all at once. Patrick kissed him after he came, so William thought he was probably forgiven. Or would be, after he let Patrick have him in return and presumably learned something about how to get someone off while fucking their ass.

“You were always a better drummer,” he said drowsily, when they’d both cooled enough to pull up the sheet and Patrick had settled into his post-coital not-quite-spooning position under William’s arm.

It might not have been the most coherent leap of logic, but he could tell that Patrick had followed him when he felt the shake of laughter under his hand. “You write better lyrics,” Patrick replied, turning his head a little so that William could see his profile. “I’m going to wake up to find a notebook full of poems about my ass.”

“You’ll have to orchestrate them,” William told him, running one finger down Patrick’s arm. “You’re better at arranging music.”

“You’re a better front man,” Patrick countered.

“You’re better in bed,” William returned.

Patrick laughed again, and his lips pressed warm and dry against William’s bare shoulder. William could hear the smile in his voice when he said, “You’re better than you think you are.”  



End file.
